"I can do it on my own," she snaps.
I ignore her protest. I get to my feet, the water and soap streaming off my body. Then I reach down and wrap an arm around her waist, and pull her to her feet.
She's still unsteady, maybe even more now. I tighten my arm around her waist and hold her against me.
I turn the water back on and reach for the handheld shower head with my free hand. I rinse the soap from her body, my movements slow, deliberate. The warm water cascades over her, rinsing away the suds, the scent of coconut.
Her body is limp against mine, her head resting on my chest. She's exhausted. Drained.
When we're both clean, I turn the water off and grab a large, fluffy towel. I wrap it around her, a soft, white cloud that immediately soaks up the moisture. I gently rub her dry, my hands moving over her body with a possessive tenderness.
It would surprise anyone else to see me like this, but the truth is, she's not wrong in her assessment of me.
I can be cruel, but that cruelty comes with responsibility. Aftercare is paramount. I'm responsible for her physical and mental well-being after a night like tonight. Especially considering the fact that it's not only her first time being with someone as dominant as me, but her first time at all.
I leave her standing on her own for just a second while I wrap another towel hastily around her waist. Taking her weight again, I lead her out of the steamy bathroom and back into the suite.
A cart parked next to a table draws her eye. On it are covered plates, a carafe of water, two bottles of coconut water, and some glasses.
"You need to eat," I say, guiding her toward the table.
"I'm not hungry," she says, her voice a tired, mumbled protest.
"I didn't ask. You need to eat." I lead her to the couch instead of the dining table and let her slump into it. "The kitchen staff didn't know what you'd like, so they sent up a variety. We'll figure out what you want after I put lotion on you."
Her head snaps up. "On me?"
"Unless you want to be incredibly sore tomorrow, yes." I head into the bathroom again and find a bottle of lotion on the counter. When I return, she hasn't moved. Just staring at the cart of food like it's going to bite her.
I sit on the couch next to her and take her leg, draping it over my lap. I squeeze some lotion onto my palm and warm it between my hands before starting at her ankle. I work my way up her calf, my touch firm and methodical. Her skin is soft, smooth, a pleasure to touch.
She tenses for a moment, a flinch of instinctual resistance, then she forces herself to relax, her body melting under my touch.
"Thank you," she whispers, the words so faint I almost miss them.
"For what?" I ask, my thumbs working into the tight muscle of her calf.
"For... this," she says, her gaze fixed on my hands.
I feel a tightness in my chest at her small voice. Instead of responding to her words, I just say, "Tell me if it hurts anywhere or if you're more sore anywhere more than the rest." I need to be clinical to push away the unfamiliar feeling in my chest.
"I'm sore... everywhere," she admits. "My thighs are the worst. And where you... spanked me." The last two words come out in a whisper.
"Good. It's supposed to be sore. That's how you remember your lesson." My hands move higher, my fingers massaging the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her breath hitches, her body tensing again. "But I'll take care of it, nonetheless."
She goes quiet again, and I finish with her leg, my hands smoothing the lotion into her skin. I do the other one, then gesture for her to turn around.
She hesitates, her gaze searching mine. She's looking for something, for some sign of my intentions. But I give her nothing. My face is a mask of neutrality.
With a sigh, she turns around, presenting her back to me. I unfasten her towel, letting it fall to her waist. Her skin is pale, a stark contrast to the dark, rosy blush on her ass.
My hands move to her shoulders, my thumbs working into the tight muscles of her neck. She lets out a soft sigh, her head falling forward.
I work my way down her back, my hands moving in slow, sweeping strokes. Her skin is warm, the lotion a cool, soothing balm. My hands move lower, skimming over the curve of her ass.
She flinches as my hands touch the pink skin.
"It's okay," I say, my voice a low murmur. "Just let me take care of you. Lean forward."
